


Waiting

by Luka



Series: We're a team [7]
Category: Rugby RPF, Rugby Union RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Established Relationship, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 17:39:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19155784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/pseuds/Luka
Summary: It's the end of the season and George and Owen need to talk.





	Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> This is the latest instalment in my series that tries to explore what might happen if two international rugby stars came out. It takes place during the final week of the English Premiership season and follows on from Betrayed, United, Division, Together, Pressure and Compromise (all posted). It'll probably be the last instalment for a while until the World Cup camps start. Thank you to everyone who's read the stories and left comments and kudos - I've really appreciated the encouragement!

George looked at the BBC Sports pages and felt a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’d been sure that Danny Cipriani was going to be playing for the Barbarians on Sunday. But the story said he hadn’t been signed off by the RFU to play, which almost certainly meant he was in the England reckoning for the World Cup. And suddenly George felt heavy-footed and slow in comparison with the mercurial Gloucester fly-half who’d had the dream season, had picked up two big awards and had helped his team to the Premiership semi-finals. There was no way Eddie would pick three fly-halves. And it was obvious he no longer saw Owen as an inside centre. He'd be much more likely to pick Henry at centre and get him to cover fly-half if needed.

His phone buzzed. It was a text from Ben, wanting to know if he’d play golf with him the next morning. George couldn’t think of a good excuse not to and knew he'd likely have Ben on the doorstep if he said no to a round of golf, so he replied with a thumbs-up.

Monday night he just couldn’t sleep and at 3am was watching old rugby league matches on YouTube. And he wondered again whether he should accept one of the league offers. His agent periodically emailed him with the latest approach, and George had admitted on the Flat Caps and Whippets podcast that he’d love to give league a go - but he’d added the rider that he still had things he wanted to achieve in union. But if his England involvement went, then so would any chance of going on the 2021 Lions tour.

***

“What’s on your mind, kiddo?” Ben divided the last ham sandwich in half immaculately and handed George his share. They were relaxing in Ben’s garden after a round of golf where George might as well have been playing with a hockey stick. He didn’t even want to remember his score.

The sandwich routine reminded George of when his mum had adjudicated on brotherly arguments over who’d ended up with the biggest slice of cake. The house rule was that one brother cut and the other chose. He said this out loud, and Ben laughed. It had obviously been the same in the Youngs household when Ben and Tom were growing up.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

George knew that it was pointless trying to bullshit Ben, as he was like a dog with a bone. “I dunno … Nothing really …”

“Not you and Owen?”

George shook his head, knowing he was an appalling liar. When he’d left on Monday morning the farewell between them had been almost perfunctory. George prided himself on being a realist and not over-reacting to incidents, but knew that if their relationship ended it would feel like his world had fallen apart.

“Oh, wait a minute … You didn’t read that bollocks Jeremy Guscott was spouting in the Rugby Paper about Cipriani going to the World Cup?”

George shrugged.

“Guscott might have been a good player, but as a pundit he can’t find his arse with both hands, a torch and a road map. I predict that Eddie will pick Danny in the extended training squad, and then cull him from the final one. There’s no way on earth he’s going to disrupt the game plans he’s built up with you and Faz. Cips is a class act, but he’s not Eddie’s sort of player.”

“I dunno …”

“You wait and see, kiddo. I know I’m right.” 

***

As soon as George got home mid-afternoon, he did what he always did when he needed to offload on a rugby problem – phoned his dad.

As always, his dad sounded upbeat. And he guessed within about a minute and a half that George wasn’t telling him everything.

“Where are you?”

“At home.”

“Why don’t you come on up for a day or two? Your mum’d like to see you. And if you leave now, you’ll be here for tea.”

George, who didn’t usually do impulsive in any part of his life, stuffed a change of clothes into a holdall, grabbed his kitbag and was in the car heading north within half an hour.

When he arrived in Lancashire two hours and 20 minutes later, he knew immediately from the amazing smell that his mum was cooking his favourite roast chicken meal. 

She kissed him and then regarded him critically at arm's length. "How long can you stay?"

"I'll have to go back first thing Thursday."

"You need some proper food inside you and some fresh air."

After tea she shooed him and his dad out to do what they’d always done – go down to the playing fields. George spent 45 minutes or so on his kicking, with his dad suggesting tweaks. Then they sat down on one of the benches, the bag of balls at their feet.

His dad stretched out his legs and surveyed the early evening kids playing football with their mates or dads, and the dog walkers out for the usual exercise. Various people stopped to chat to him, nodding politely to George. Some of the kids and fathers waved as well, and George suspected his dad often joined them for a kick-about or offered some casual comments - he was never happier than when he was talking sport and coaching people.

“You’re thinking about them league offers, aren’t you?”

There was no point in George trying to bullshit him. “Yes.”

“What’s the latest?”

“None since I last saw you …”

“But all the Cipriani hype is getting to you?”

George nodded.

“Not surprising after the season you’ve had. He’s a good player for sure, but I don’t see where he fits into Eddie’s plans.”

“That’s what Ben said.”

“There you are, then. You’ve done all you can to fit in with what Eddie wants, and you have to trust now that he doesn’t want to discard all that work you and young Owen have done. I’d be bloody surprised if he did.”

“I suppose … I dunno, the rugby league offers just seem like a new start. But then it’d be giving up all hope of the Lions tour.”

His dad nodded. “There’s your answer, I think. Unless things go seriously pear-shaped in the next two years, that’s your target. League can wait for a bit.”

***

Jonny was sitting on the garden wall, overnight bag next to him, when George drew up outside the house just after noon on Thursday. From the text messages Jonny had started sending the night before, it was clear that he was serious yet again about being George’s minder. Considering it was usually the other way around, George decided to go with the flow. The thought of Jonny, who bemused the hell out of Billy, squaring up to the huge No 8 was something worth selling tickets for.

When they arrived at Owen’s there was a house full. Owen’s mum, dad, two sisters and Gabe were there, although they were all staying in a nearby hotel. The idea was for everyone to go out for dinner that night. George smiled politely, nodded and tried not to stare at Owen, who’d greeted him on the doorstep like some distant acquaintance. 

George and Jonny took mugs of tea out into the back garden so that the family could catch up with each other. If Owen’s ultra-perceptive mum had spotted the tension between George and Owen, she’d put it down to the upcoming final. Jonny, though, had noticed.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong with what?” 

“Between you and Owen.”

George sighed and stared down the garden to where a cat was stalking a starling. 

“Tell me the truth, George.” There was no sign of Jonny’s usual grasshopper brain and he was staring unwaveringly at his friend.

“Owen had coffee with Mako last week …”

“And?”

“He asked Mako if they’d both come to the wedding, and Mako said he would and that Billy probably would … Owen and me, we haven’t talked about it, but there’s no way I want them there.”

“What was the context?”

“What do you mean?”

“What else had been said? It’s not a question you tend to introduce into a casual conversation, especially when the two of you haven’t, as far as I know, even set a date. Are you sure Owen wasn’t asking him a hypothetical question?”

“I don’t know …” George’s head was spinning and he was beginning to wish he’d stayed at home. Owen seemed so cold and distant, and he couldn’t blame him. 

“Ask him,” said Jonny firmly and then wanted to know George’s opinion on the decision to play the Chelsea v Arsenal Europa League final in Baku.

***

The meal out at a country pub was fairly raucous and George was relieved that Owen and Gabe were keeping the conversation going with their usual daft chat, while Jonny, who had seemed rather in awe of Owen’s dad to start with, was chatting happily to him about defensive play and Ireland. George tried to work out if they'd overlapped with England, but he couldn’t remember and didn’t want to display his ignorance by asking. George was between Owen's mum and one of his sisters. He didn’t know Owen's sisters very well, as his main memory of them was of small girls who hadn’t wanted to have anything to do with two teenage lads whose only topic of conversation had been rugby. He was grateful for Owen's mum, who he'd always adored. She'd always had a kind word for him when he was younger, and she'd told him when he and Owen came out to their families that she'd be proud to have him as a son-in-law. Now she asked after his parents and brothers, said wryly that she owed his mum an email, and then told him about Gabe's progress at mini rugby.

George drove Owen and Jonny back to the house. Owen sat in the back seat with his head down and concentrated on his phone. Jonny launched into a monologue about global warming, and George grunted occasionally to pretend he knew what the heck his mate was going on about.

He was sitting cross-legged on the bed when Owen came upstairs. George had had the crazy thought that maybe he should sleep on the sofa, or top and tail with Jonny.

“I’m sorry …” George’s voice was low.

“What for?” Owen’s face was expressionless, and that hurt so much.

“For last week, for snapping at you, for not trusting you, for assuming …” He couldn’t meet Owen’s vivid blue eyes, unable to bear seeing the pain in them.

Owen sat down beside George and tipped his chin up, kissing him gently on the lips. “Look at me, our kid, please."

"I've hurt you and I'm sorry." George dragged his eyes upwards. "And tell me the truth. Was it why you didn't kick so well against Gloucester?"

Owen hesitated, then said: "Maybe. I dunno. I can usually put personal stuff out of my head when I'm kicking, but it kept running through my mind at odd moments ..."

"I'm sorry …"

"It’d have been better if I hadn’t given you a half-arsed account of the conversation. Ironically, I told Mako that they weren’t invited so he wouldn’t have to mither over whether to come or not. Then he said he hated the thought he wouldn’t be welcome, given how long he’s known us, so I straight out asked if he’d come, and he said yes without hesitation. And then I asked whether he thought Billy would come if invited, and he said he thought he probably would, as he’d hate the idea of not seeing friends get married.”

So Jonny had been right. It had been a hypothetical question. But that didn’t make George feel any happier. And he didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t like he had images in his head of a fairytale wedding, or anything - like that was going to happen when two rugby players got hitched, with a cast of raucous teammates in attendance. Stuff like that only happened to girls and on other people’s Instagram accounts. But shit, he hadn’t been able to help dreaming of the day when he’d get married to the bloke he wanted to spend his life with.

Owen sat quietly, holding George’s left hand in both of his. He didn’t crowd him or hassle him, obviously giving him space to get his thoughts in order. And then, as the silence lengthened, Owen pulled George against him and it was as if they fitted together like some perfect jigsaw.

Eventually George said: “I’m sorry … I don’t know what to say …”

“You don’t want them there, do you?”

George couldn’t lie. “No. I’ll never forgive Billy for what he said, and it’s like I don’t trust Mako any more. But they’re your teammates and I know how close you all are … And I feel awful that all the personal shit affected your kicking. So if you want to change your mind about us getting, you know …”

Owen’s arm tightened around him. “I’ll never change my mind about wanting to marry you. After the final, let’s set a date for next summer. And we’ll think about who to invite nearer the time. As me mam always says, don’t borrow trouble.”

“But it’d look weird if you invited all your teammates and not them …”

“Maybe. The Sarries thing is kind of hard to explain to people. I mean, Billy and Mako are fuckwits, but they’re my fuckwits, just the same as I’m their queer.”

George knew how close the Saracens gang were and how well the club treated them. It was probably the main reason why players stayed there and why they’d built such a formidable team.

Owen kissed George again, tracing his fingers across his cheekbones. “The first thing Mako asked me was whether you hated them both now. I said he'd have to ask you that, but he could hardly be surprised. There’s no point in us mithering about it now, though. And we don’t let them come between us, OK?”

George nodded. “I know I’m crap with words sometimes, but you do know how much I love you, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, our kid. And I love you so fucking much …”

“You need to get some sleep.”

“Not tired. Let’s look for somewhere we can go on holiday. Where d’you fancy?”

“I dunno. Somewhere warm. Italy, maybe?” 

“Hotel or villa?”

“Don’t mind. It’d be nice to have everything laid on in a hotel, but we’d have all the privacy we wanted in a villa,” said George pragmatically, then laughed as Owen waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

George dragged his laptop out of his bag, and they settled down in bed to browse through various sites. 

“That one!” said Owen.

George zoomed in on it. It was a villa on the edge of a small Italian coastal town on the west coast. And it looked perfect. There was a pool and it didn’t appear to be overlooked by neighbours. But the chances of it being available at crazy short notice in June were nil to non-existent.

He clicked on the booking link and bloody hell, there was a banner over the top saying that it was available for two weeks because of a cancellation.

“Book it,” said Owen. “We’ll worry about flights later.”

George grabbed his credit card from out of his wallet and did as he was told.

***

At the end of 80 minutes, George felt like he’d played a full game in the searing Twickenham heat. That had been one hell of a seesaw match and probably the best he’d watched in ages. A load of the Exeter lads were in tears, and George couldn't blame them. He was desperately worried for Jack and hoped his injured ankle wasn't as serious as it first looked. And Henry, one of the calmest people George knew, had had a rush of blood to the head with the deliberate knock-on - he'd probably never been sin-binned in his life before.

After the medals and trophy were presented, Owen ran over to where his family were. He looked ecstatic as he hugged his mum, dad, sisters and Gabe, and insisted on having his photo taken with them and the trophy.

“Go on,” said Jonny, digging George in the ribs.

“Go on where?”

“Owen’s looking for you. Go to him.”

George was enveloped in a sweaty hug. And then every photographer, TV camera and the stadium’s big screen captured Owen kissing George on the lips.

As Owen gave him one final kiss and ran off to join his teammates, George’s phone pinged. It was a text message from Ben: _“Oi, get a room, you two! And congrats to Faz and the lads.”_

***

“Oh god, guess what Alex has done this time!” 

“Dunno.” George concentrated on a lorry that seemed to determined to pull out into the M1 middle lane just centimetres in front of him. 

They were halfway back to Leicestershire. Owen and the Saracens lads were likely to be out on the piss for at least the next three days, and social media was speculating happily on how Alex could top his three-day bender in full kit after the Champions’ Cup win.

“He’s all done up as a nun wearing lipstick. It suits him!” And Jonny kept up a running commentary for the rest of the way home on the other social media highlights of the Saracens team's celebrations.

***

Owen turned up at George’s early Wednesday evening, looking only slightly the worse for wear. They’d found cheap tickets to Italy from Birmingham airport, the only downside being that the flight left at sparrowfart o’clock. They were booked into the villa for a fortnight, and had also decided on a hotel on the Amalfi coast for the third week. George, an inveterate organiser, had booked everything, including a hire car. He wanted Owen to be able to relax during his mandatory five-week break.

The villa was perfect. They relaxed around the pool, went to the beach most days and wandered around the small towns in the area. One coffee shop they were in on the third day, some lads from the local rugby club recognised them and invited them to training. It turned out to be stacks of fun and they posted photos on Instagram of them taking part and also doing some coaching, with the hashtag #rugbyfamily.

They were in the bar afterwards when Mica, one of the flankers and who spoke reasonable English, said: “You are lovers, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Owen stared at him, as if daring him to make a derogatory comment.

“You are very brave. My sister is gay and there is no way she can tell anyone here.”

“That’s awful …”

Mica shrugged. “She will go to university in England in September and I hope she will find somebody there. Has it been OK for you both?”

“On the whole,” said Owen. “There have been some idiots, but they can fuck off. They’re far outweighed by good people.”

“You know he is going to court?”

“Who is?” asked Owen.

But George knew immediately and tried to damp down his anger. What a fucking hypocrite Folau was. So much for proclaiming that god would decide if he continued playing rugby or not. He pulled out his phone, scrolled to the BBC sports page, clicked on the story and handed the phone to Owen. 

“Fuck him,” was all Owen said.

***

The town was a medieval one, with most of the old walls intact. A couple of the rugby lads had told them to go to a restaurant there for lunch. The food was amazing and Owen’s eyes shone in the dim light of the alcove where they were sitting. It felt to George like they could have been back in the middle ages. He reached out and their fingers touched briefly.

And then, when they were wandering around the small town, Owen pulled George into a tiny shop in the shadow of the city walls. The owner looked as if he were as old as the town. Laid out on the counter were trays of rings.

“Go on, choose one,” said Owen.

“Bloody hell, are you sure?”

“Time to announce our engagement,” was all that Owen said.

Outside they found a place to sit on the walls. Owen unwrapped the first ring - a simple gold band – and reached for George's left hand. Gently he pushed the ring onto his third finger. 

George ran his fingers over the ring for a moment or two, then picked up the other box and placed an identical ring on Owen's left hand. 

They sat in silence for a moment or two, their hands entwined. George glanced around and then gave Owen a quick kiss on the lips. “Be mine forever,” he said quietly.

“Of course I will.”

***

That night at the rugby club's barbecue, Mica took photos of them looking down at their linked hands with the rings glinting on their fingers. Owen was laughing, his face transformed and his eyes crinkling. And George, who knew he had a tendency to be over-serious, was smiling fit to burst. There was only one thing to do with the photos …

_So yeah, we're having a great holiday and look what we've gone and done, aided and abetted by the Red Devils rugby boys. #engaged #upyoursfolau #lovealwayswins_


End file.
